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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952922">Shouldn't Have Mattered</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Of course not, This is really self indulgent, i was depressed af so i wrote this, might not finish this tbh, not me projecting my issues onto dream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:32:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,847</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952922</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay is doing great. A song that he happens to hear drags up repressed memories, trauma, and anxiety attacks. Clay isn't doing great.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>150</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Doing poorly, and you?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the slashes in front of words means that the words are supposed to be italicized i dont know anything about this site lmao</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The alarm woke the blonde man up, blaring relentlessly. Clay, shot through with coexisting panic and exhaustion, hurriedly tapped his phone and fell back onto his bed.</p>
<p>He eventually picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts to find George's number. 'Fuck it, I'm too tired for this,' he thought to himself, opening the keypad. He manually input George's number- which he obviously knew by heart- and pressed the call button. </p>
<p>"Hello?" A familiar voice, with a familiar accent tinging their words. </p>
<p>"George!" A warm, flashy feeling unfolded in Clay's chest, comfortable yet slightly painful.</p>
<p>"Hey, Dream." George's voice sounded much less friendly than it had previously, now that Clay had been clocked. The blonde man snickered before turning his attention back to the call.</p>
<p>"I just woke up to a blaring alarm! My heart is literally going faster than any of my speedruns! Anything interesting happening on your side today?" He heard a slight chuckle through the phone. 'Goal,' he thought, the corners of his lips tugging upwards.</p>
<p>"No, not really, just dealing with my idiot friends as usual. I recorded a video with Sapnap earlier actually, it's a shame you were asleep. You could've just messed up your sleep schedule to hang out with us, you know."</p>
<p>Clay felt a small, sharp hurt flow through his lungs. He usually didn't mind being bullied by George, of all people, but that seemed to go out the window here. His awkwardly long silence seemed to clue the other man in.</p>
<p>"...Are you good, Dream?" George asked tentatively.</p>
<p>"Wh- oh, yeah, no I'm fine! Just zoned out for a minute there," he brushed it off, ignoring the inconvenience of his emotions. "Sorry that I want to have a healthier lifestyle than the two of you." He meant it in a joking toneway, but there was an obvious bitter tinge to his voice.</p>
<p>"You soun-"<br/>"Whoops, gotta go, Georgie!" Clay quickly ended the call after that, running a hand through his hair. He felt less energetic than usual, like there was some dark gray pushing down on all his usual colorful hues. The blonde man exhaled sharply and got out of bed, going through his normal routines. </p>
<p>Take what was probably the longest piss in the history of man, check. Clean Patches' litterbox, check. Wash his hands and face, check. Brush his teeth and a little bit of his hair, wherever it might be needed- check. Stare at himself in the mirror... wait, that wasn't part of the plan.</p>
<p>Clay quietly gazed at himself, receptive green eyes searching his own face. He saw all the familiar marks, the laugh lines, the slight bags under his eyes, everything was normal. 'But it's not,' he thought. He quickly pushed the thought away and berated himself for a few seconds on managing to become the introspective main character in a Wattpad fanfiction.</p>
<p>He took his Bluetooth speaker from the nightstand as he walked back into his bedroom, pressing the on button. Connecting his phone to it, he scrolled through several Pandora artists before deciding on a band he hadn't heard before. The soft, tentative music flooded his apartment as he went to go make breakfast.</p>
<p>/With my back/<br/>/On the floor/<br/>/Cold linoleum icing my growing pains/<br/>/Watch the ceiling fan turn its shape again/<br/>/My threads are comin' loose/</p>
<p>The blonde had by this point already had some eggs in the cast-iron pan, so he turned the heat down and covered the pan with its lid. He poured himself a cup of milk, made two  slices of toast and even peeled an orange to put down on his place. "Gourmet meal," he joked to himself gently, while a stab of discomfort uncurled in his throat as the music continued.</p>
<p>/Yeah, I'm one spoon away/<br/>/From setting the ends of my hair on fire/<br/>/If I'm kindling for a little while/<br/>/At least I'll feel of use/</p>
<p>Unconsciously, he attempted to defend himself against the lyrics. He was of use- he made content, /free/ content, for anybody and everybody to view. He told stories and shared his life with everyone and in return was able to live comfortably. He had talents and gifts unique to him. <br/>His laugh- so /special/, right? He sounded like a tea kettle, for god's sake, or at least that's what everyone online seemed to think. <br/>There was no reason to be upset, right? There were people living a lot less worse than he was, so he had no complaints.</p>
<p>/Maybe then, my breath could embody/<br/>/A wildfire starting/<br/>/I'd sweep up the forest floor/<br/>/And my body breathe life into the corners/<br/>/Be a darker soil/</p>
<p>Clay felt a familiar wave of deep, dark, murky gray sweep over him. He was shaking- when had he started shaking? His heart pounded in his ears for seemingly no reason at all. He slowly sank down to the floor, vision disappearing and reappearing as black spots reigned. His body tensed up, almost instinctively, as he fought tooth and nail to keep his breathing under control. </p>
<p>Then the song changed tune from heavy to seemingly light, and Clay felt a sting of whiplash from the suddenness of it. </p>
<p>'Well. That was weird. That was extremely weird. I guess this part isn't too bad,' he thought, shoving down thoughts that he'd rather ignore and instead repeating the thoughts he'd rather feed himself to keep from going too deep.</p>
<p>The lyrics repeated once more and he covered his ears, thoughts rushing in and out of focus like big, loud, noisy trains on the unsteady tracks that have been laid.<br/>"What the fuck." His own voice seemed to jolt him out of his mind, and he stood on unsteady limbs. He took a few seconds to recollect himself...then quickly went to turn off the music.</p>
<p>/Promise me that you'll start/<br/>/Where I end-</p>
<p>"Bluetooth disconnected. Powering off," the monotone female voice droned through the speaker, announcing her departure.</p>
<p>Clay breathed deeply, shaking his head as if to brush off whatever the fuck had just happened to him. He quickly went back to the kitchen, eggs on his mind. "That was fucking wee~eeee~iii~rd," he mumbled in sing-song under his voice as he scraped the eggs, thankfully not burned, onto his plate of cinnamon-suger toast and oranges.</p>
<p> He could still feel the gray somewhere inside him, threatening to overtake the bottomless well around it that he'd messily created to keep it away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Love me some fanart early in the morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Discord chatting</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>once again, the slashes are meant to represent italicized words</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clay sat down at his countertop and mindlessly scrolled through his Twitter feed, then his Instagram feed when he got bored of it. He checked the #dreamwastaken tag. He checked the #dreamwastakenfanart tag. He checked the #georgenotfound and #georgenotfoundfanart tags as well, liking a few pictures and saving them so he could send them to George later. </p><p>Oh, shit. George. After the call this morning he'd kept his phone on do not disturb. He winced as he opened up the text conversation between George and himself.</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: Dream?<br/>GeorgeNotFound: Dream are you okay?<br/>GeorgeNotFound: Clay<br/>GeorgeNotFound: Okay I'm not sure what that call was about but if you need me to tone it down or something I can do that<br/>GeorgeNotFound: I'm sorry<br/>GeorgeNotFound: I hope youre doing alright</p><p>'Hm. Not as many as I'd expected,' he thought to himself, pushing away the fresh memory of what had happened not even two hours ago. He poked his toast with his fork, then stabbed it and lifted it to his mouth. Munching.</p><p>Dream: hey<br/>Dream: sorry lol patches was yelling at me to make her food</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: I don't want to press or anything but like. You didn't sound very upbeat there</p><p>Dream: yeah idk im not exactly 100% today dont worry about it</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: I'm here if you need to talk, anyways</p><p>Dream: how sweet lol<br/>Dream: you're all mushy today, what;s wrong with you George?</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: I take that back</p><p>Dream: George nooooo D: i was starting to like this new version of you</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: You ruined the moment, Dream. That block button is looking reeal pretty right about now</p><p>Dream: GEORGE NO HAHAHA NOOOOOOO</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: I won't, but only on one condition</p><p>Dream: what</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: Send me a picture of yourself I wanna see how you look this morning</p><p>Dream: ehhhh i dunno. werent we on video call like the entire time mr wilbur suit and you were together? isnt that enough to sate your ungodly homosexual desires George</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: Dream cmon, I just want one picture... pwease? pwetty pwease?</p><p>-Clay giggled to himself, turning a faint shade of red. George was so stupid-</p><p>Dream: noooooo</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: Dream. seriously. I'll shine your shoes, I'll make you coffee, please don't go away from me Dream etc etc</p><p>Dream: weeelll, if you give me a hug i might</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: I can't do that</p><p>Dream: but you can shine my shoes and make me coffee?</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: Yes</p><p>Dream: ..elaborate?</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: No</p><p>Dream: typical</p><p>/(1 attached image)/</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Oh, Jesus Christ I hate being by myself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>dream does not like being alone</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After whatever the hell had happened earlier, (Clay assumes it was an anxiety attack after looking it up, but for what reason he couldn't tell.) Clay had finished his breakfast and washed the dishes. </p><p>He also cleaned every inch of his apartment, made his bed, wiped down his keyboard and moniter, brushed Patches' fur, and rearranged all the dishes in the cabinets.</p><p>Now he was sitting in his gaming chair at his computer. Nothing to do. He figured he could probably get on TeamSpeak with George, but...</p><p>'Eh, whatever,' Clay thought to himself, noticing the notification from George's Twitch account announcing his stream. This piqued Clay's interest more. He opened up Discord.</p><p>Dream: you just recorded a video and now you're streaming? kinda weirdchamp</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: You don't control my content schedule Dream</p><p>Dream: bet yur chats going crazy that you're texting someone SpEsHuL</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: I was going to invite you to come on but if you're going to act like that I think I won't</p><p>Dream: ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok im sorry pwease can i join gogy wogy</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: Never speak to me like that again and you can join any time you want</p><p>Dream: success for big d</p><p>Clay hopped onto TeamSpeak and announced his presence on stream. He took a quick peek at George's chat and saw everyone greeting him, and managed a tiny smile. </p><p>"Yes, I know, I know, I'm the favorite child. Bring it all in now, subscribe to George with Twitch Prime, your imaginary money, and donate all your real money to me!" he crowed, milking the audience for every bit of attention he could get.</p><p>He could almost swear he saw George rolling his eyes as they both logged on to the Dream SMP and began the roleplaying.</p><p>After an hour and a half or so of being live, George eventually decided to end the stream. Clay felt a twinge of fear- he could easily distract himself and get lost in the jokes and the smiles and the rage moments where he basically abused his desk, but if he was by himself...</p><p>/Icy, sweaty hands traced up his legs. The pale, smooth skin where they met felt tingly- nervous. Wrong. But it felt so good, how could he refuse? He'd never had this sort of attention, before../</p><p>Clay instantly, instinctively pushed the memory away, blood freezing to ice as he half-heartedly begged George to keep streaming.</p><p>"Oh, come on now. You don't have to stop just yet!"</p><p>"Dream..." George trailed off, shaking his head fondly.</p><p>"Come ooooon, you're so close to 4:20! It'd be LEGENDARY, George! Imagine all the clips! Don't stop yet!"</p><p>He swallowed nervously as he saw the brunette wave his hands excitedly, a familiar farewell signal to his fans. "Well, George, I didn't want to have to do it," he sighed, faking resignment.</p><p>"Wh- Dream, what are you doing?" George laughed breathlessly, in that way.</p><p>"Sorry, George."</p><p>"Dream-"</p><p>Clay left the Teamspeak and opened up Twitter as he got blasted with lowkey panicked texts from George over text. He opened up the tweet creator and thought for a moment, then donned a wicked grin as he typed out the words.</p><p>"Packing my bags for @GeorgeNotFound's house. Hope to see my Euro fans soon!"</p><p>He tapped post and quickly muted the tweet, covering a tiny giggle behind the back of his hand as he watched the notifications from George pile up.</p><p>As he sat there, his gaze slowly drifted from his phone and to the wall. Clay was honestly kinda thirsty, what with all the yelling he'd been doing during the stream without any water nearby, so he headed back into his kitchen.</p><p>He was by himself. Obviously he had been by himself ever since he'd moved into his apartment, but he was usually doing something, talking to someone, going and going and going. Distracting himself.</p><p>'Distracting myself?' he suddenly clutched onto his train of thought, pausing all other destinations. He knew what he was running from. He knew what he was blocking out, pushing away, shoving to the back of his mind. It was there, constantly, but he fell asleep to it in favor of routine and comfort.</p><p>He had to face it sooner or later.</p><p>But he didn't want to.</p><p>Clay suddenly felt very small, and the truth felt so incredibly vast and overwhelming. Easy to get lost in. His stomach dropped as he slowly, silently allowed himself to wander. </p><p>He took his inner child by the hand and gripped his shield tightly, the skin over his knuckles stretched white.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh man we're getting into the trauma next chapter boys</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Holy fuckin shit we're in for it now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>incestual experiences. if u get turned on by this please never fucking speak to me ever.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>slashes represent italicized sections</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clay could easily remember. He wouldn't admit it, but he could easily remember everything. Well. He'd heard that when you have an... experience... that your brain might block it out so it's less harsh on you. Memory loss.</p><p>That scared the living shit out of him. There could be more times than he remembered and he wouldn't even know it. He suddenly felt exposed. Violated. He clutched on to his shirt like he would when he was younger, and he didn't want to feel it.</p><p>He could remember being led to the bathroom at seven years old by his oldest brother. Benjamin. He was twice his age.</p><p>/"I'll take my clothes off, and then you take your clothes off."/</p><p>He shuddered, a coil forming in his stomach. He hadn't wanted to. He'd been tempted to say no, to play hard to get... but he said-</p><p>/"Okay."/</p><p>But he was curious. You know what they say- curiosity killed the cat.</p><p>/Both their clothes were on the lid of the toilet seat. Clay felt exposed in the chilly air. He instinctively wrapped his arms around himself. He was just a kid- he didn't have that much heat to provide himself. Skin and bones./</p><p>/Ben just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Clay could almost remember what he was thinking in that moment- but it seemed to slip between his fingers./</p><p>/"Can I put my clothes back on now?" he asked feebly, a small dread had been forming within him. Ben seemed to jolt out of a trance./</p><p>Ben was scared. He was going to backpedal. </p><p>/"Yeah, sure. But..."/</p><p>Clay knew the words before his brother had even spoken them.</p><p>/"Don't tell Mom, okay?"/</p><p>He wanted to. But he said-</p><p>/"Okay."/</p><p>Clay released himself from thinking about it. It had started light. It could've stayed light. It couldn't have had such an effect on him.</p><p>/Mom had sent him to go get James. He cheerfully stomped down the attic steps, steep and unforgiving, and slipped on the third to last stair. He fell, obviously, and landed on his back./</p><p>/He had done this a few times before, but the sick, adrenaline-induced feeling he got afterwards was never less shocking than the time before it./</p><p>/After a few seconds of groaning dramatically from the impact, he got up and opened the door to Ben's room, conveniently right next to the attic stairs. He didn't knock first./</p><p>He wished he'd knocked first.</p><p>/Ben seemed strangely calm when he came in, having himself a nice little masturbation session while watching porn on his phone./</p><p>/No./ It was an iPod. Miniscule detail that no one cares about.</p><p>/No movement to cover himself. Clay had quickly shut the door when he noticed that he was naked, but... curiosity gripped him tightly and he peeked back in./</p><p>/"Are you going to come in, or what?"/</p><p>/"Okay."/</p><p>/He'd stepped gingerly into the room. Shut the door behind him. "What are you doing?" he'd asked, eyes obviously trained on Ben's actions. He'd ceased for a few moments, then a dark looked glazed over his eyes and he'd continued rubbing his penis./ </p><p>/Clay knew the word for it. It sounded strange on his lips. Dirty./</p><p>/Ben had given him a noncommital shrug, gesturing to what he was doing. Against his better judgement, Clay crept closer./</p><p>/His hand left his penis, and took Clay's hand. He placed it on his penis and began to move it gently up and down. Clay's hand felt cold compared to the immeasurable warmth of the area./</p><p>/"Keep going like that," he'd ordered. It didn't sound like an order, coming from him. Clay obeyed anyways. He copied the rhythm, up and down, up and down, up and down. Ben gripped his pillow behind him with his free hand./</p><p>/Up and down. A milky white liquid had begun to leak from the tip. 'The urethra," Clay thought at that moment. He knew a lot of things. He felt a small glimmer of pride for remembering the name of it./</p><p>/He peered curiously at it. More and more came out, each pool of liquid less diluted than the last. It began to drip down Ben's penis. Clay could smell it./</p><p>/It came too close. Clay instinctively pulled his hand away, not wanting to touch it. Ben tried to pull his hand back./</p><p>/"No," he protested, pulling his arm away from his brother's reach. "That's disgusting."/</p><p>/He'd shrugged indifferently. "Okay."/</p><p>/"What did you come in here for anyways?" Ben asked, resting his phone face-down for a few moments./</p><p>/"Mom wants you."/</p><p>/"Okay."/</p><p>/"She's in the attic."/</p><p>/"Okay."/</p><p>He hadn't washed his hands afterwards. The memory made him want to wash them a thousand times to make up for it. Wash it all away. If only he could.</p><p>Those weren't the only times, either. Those were just the ones with Ben.</p><p>At the thought, Clay sank down to the floor. He tried to cover his mouth, to stifle the cries fighting tooth and nail up his throat, threatening to escape. He remembered that was the hand that touched...</p><p>He held it away from him, sobbing violently. He barely tried to hide them. He'd had to hide them. Nowhere had been safe enough. Nowhere had been safe enough to let it out. </p><p>Nowhere in that giant fucking three story house with the big backyard and the park right across the soccer field had been safe enough for him to try and process. To try and understand. To attempt to rationalize.</p><p>Clay wanted to scream and yell and thrash about like a child throwing a tantrum. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to. He-</p><p>'Dream.'</p><p>He could hear George's voice clearly in his mind, like a lighthouse in the storm. His sobbing slowly, painfully quieted to hiccups and whimpers. George kept him steady. George was so bright, so beautiful, so untouched by the pain of what had happened. Would he-?</p><p>Clay tried to wipe the thought from his mind. He couldn't tell him. He couldn't know. He didn't need to know anything.</p><p>But maybe...</p><p>No. It wouldn't help. He couldn't help. Hell, it happened years ago- why are you just now losing it over this? It wasn't even that bad.</p><p>Clay shrieked softly into his palm. It was just loud enough to vent his verbal frustrations and just quiet enough that he wouldn't get a complaint.</p><p>He sniffed. He looked around for his phone- 'I left it in my room.' and went to go retrieve it.</p><p>With shaking hands, he sent a text to George.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>btw guys keep in mind that it's difficult for me to continue writing this, this is still my trauma that i'm still trying to process and understand. don't pressure me for more chapters. all my love &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. oops short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>george is on the case</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>mostly dialogue while i try and figure out where the hell im going with this story</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream: hey<br/>GeorgeNotFound: DREAM EVERYONE'S AFTER ME ABOUT YOUR STUPID EURO TWEET WHAT THE HELL</p><p>Clay winced. That really didn't help his mood, but at the same time he kind of deserved it.</p><p>Dream: i would say thats what you get for ending the stream early georgie</p><p>GeorgeNotFound: CALL ME RIGHT NOW</p><p>He pressed the call button, dread stabbing his stomach. Oh, boy.</p><p>"DREAM! WHAT THE HELL?" a Brit laugh-yelled through the speakers, slamming against Clay's eardrums.</p><p>Clay's lip quivered slightly. He'd thought he could joke around a bit before pulling George into his whole mess, but apparently not. A tear slipped down his cheek and a sob slipped through his lips before he could bite it back. "Sorry- I'm sorry, fuck- I-" he stammered, tears blurring his gaze.</p><p>George immediately relented. "Are you crying? What's happened?" he asked, suddenly gentler than a lamb.</p><p>He could only sniff and attempt to form words out of the pitch black that swam in his vision. "I c- I- George, I need.."</p><p>George was quiet.</p><p>"I need- I need help," he managed to choke out, almost silent from how quietly he'd spoken it.</p><p>"Okay. Okay," he comforted, "What can I do to help you?"</p><p>"I don't know, I-" he broke off, the momentary calm shattered once more as he fought with himself, the conflict in his head raging, tearing, biting and scratching at his expense. He cried, so hard, so long.</p><p>"Dream, do you need me to... come over?"</p><p>Clay almost involuntarily shook his head. What? Was he offering to-? "I- maybe? Yes?" he stuttered, disbelief obvious in his voice.</p><p>"I can- I can go now, I can look up tickets. I want to help you," he insisted, forming a plan through his words.</p><p>"If you really want to, you can, but... It's not exactly the best time for meeting up, isn't it?"</p><p>He could hear George shuffling to his computer.</p><p>"Doesn't matter. I'm going."</p><p>Dream managed to blink away his tears in shock, thoughts swarming in his brain. "Okay."</p><p>"Will you stay on call with me and tell me what's going on while I make arrangements?" he asked gently, pausing before adding "If you don't want to, that's fine- I- I just want to make sure you don't do anything..." he trailed off, obviously thinking about the worse things Clay could be doing instead of calling him.</p><p>Clay nodded sullenly, before realizing George couldn't actually see him. "Sure."</p><p>"Okay. Whenever you're ready."</p><p>Whenever you're ready. Whenever you're ready. The phrase repeated itself in Clay's mind, and he closed his eyes to it. It was so gentle, so warm. Inviting. How in the hell had he managed to find someone like him?</p><p>"Okay," he whispered. "I'm ready."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>bit of a shorter chapter this time whoopsie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. yay more</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>mom walks in whoops</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw/cw for incest</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"It wasn't entirely Ben's fault that it hit me so hard, I don't think. Of course, he was a part of it, and.. y'know, obviously, I chose to hang on to it instead of letting go and living well, or whatever bullshit my mom said to me to try and will me into like.. not being traumatized."</p><p>"I decided, like, really early on, that it was more so Micah's fault- Micah is my other brother- he was the second kid out of us eight, including me."</p><p>"He was a lot more, um... quiet. Cautious. He knew what he was doing, I think."</p><p>"I remember the first time... he..."</p><p>/Micah had led him up the stairs. No one else was home, and he'd been entrusted to watch him while the rest of the family were off doing something or another. No one had suspected./</p><p>/He opened the door to Clay's bedroom, gestured to the bed./</p><p>/"Pick out a book and you can read it while you lay down."/</p><p>/Clay obeyed. He'd picked out a book from the pile on the floor- the pile was nowhere near as big of an amount as how many were on the bookshelves. He loved to read. He loved to tread uncertainly into a fantastical place where he could follow along and absorb the mystery, the characters, the love. It was beautiful./</p><p>/It was a Berenstein Bears book./</p><p>"I can't really remember which one it was. Just that it was one of those books."</p><p>/He'd climbed into bed, gotten under the sheet./</p><p>/"Take your underwear off," Micah spoke./</p><p>/"What?" he'd asked increduously. He felt a glimmer of.. something. Wrongness, was the best way to describe it, really. He'd known this wasn't something you should do... but... what if it was? Was he just missing something?/</p><p>/Micah repeated what he'd said. "Take your clothes off."/</p><p>/He'd complied, but left his shirt on. Micah said nothing about it, so he assumed it was okay. His underwear was discarded in the corner of the room. The thin fabric looked so small compared to everything else in the room./</p><p>/"Turn over."/</p><p>"And I did."</p><p>/Clay laid there, wondering what to expect. He'd taken his clothes off. What...?/</p><p>/Micah slid in the bed behind him. Almost like a shadow. "You can keep reading."/</p><p>"And I did, again."</p><p>/Clay focused his attention on his book, placing himself in the story as he went./</p><p>"Y'know, that was the great thing about being a kid, I think- you could block everything out pretty easily. Children- they- you tend to be incredibly resilient. You can adapt pretty well. Good for them, really, in some cases."</p><p>/Icy, sweaty hands traced up his legs. The pale, smooth skin where they met felt tingly- nervous. Wrong. But it felt so good, how could he refuse? He'd never had this sort of attention, before./</p><p>/He instinctively froze. That was a sensitive area- he wasn't used to being touched there. He heard Micah's voice, rough and quietly threatening. "Keep reading." Clay swallowed nervously and focused./</p><p>/His older brother's hands slid in between his legs, stroking. Stroking, everywhere. Places no one else was supposed to touch./</p><p>"And it was sort of, like... everything else sort of, like... ceased to exist, I guess."<br/>A harsh, forced chuckle. He started to cry, but quickly managed to stifle it enough to continue. Salty tears rolled down freckled cheeks.</p><p>/"Wh-" "Keep reading."/</p><p>/Clay's breath seemed to short-circuit as a thumb swiped over his rim. Testing. It puckered up, unused to the sensation. Tingles. Anxiety. A low, constant hum of dark blue and that neverending sense of wrong. He knew they weren't supposed to be doing this./</p><p>/Clay was very smart. He knew how to spell fairly well. He'd been reading books like Warriors and The Blue Fairy Book for forever, it seemed. He was basically a grammar nazi on any game he played that allowed chat, correcting not only himself but others as well./</p><p>/He knew they weren't supposed to be doing this./</p><p>"That, um, went on for a while."</p><p>/Salvation. Panic. Heavy footsteps trod up the stairs as the door slammed. The rest of them were home. Clay froze up. He was going to be punished if he didn't... he needed to.../</p><p>/Micah was already out of the bed. "Get your underwear on," he'd hissed in a low voice./</p><p>/He did. Then the door opened. Mom walked through the door, eyes hard as steel and suspicious. She had immediately surveyed the situation./</p><p>"And- if she was horrified, I think she hid it pretty well. She always used, um, anger and whatnot to cover up any sort of, uh... non-strong emotion, I guess."</p><p>/"Get your shorts on," she'd spoken then in a low voice. She glared daggers at Micah, who stood in the middle of the room guiltily. Clay did. "Get out. I need to talk to your brother."/</p><p>"That was that," Clay finished, sniffing and wiping away his tears with the back of his hands. He made a low noise of frustration and began angrily wiping his face, willing himself to stop crying. "There was more, though."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>slightly longer chapter</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. ruh roh</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>lots of memories</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw/cw for incest</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George felt so.. he... couldn't even tell, if he was being honest. He thought he could almost feel what Dream was feeling, except at the same time he couldn't even begin to try and understand.</p><p>His heart wrenched violently with every single word. The amount of hopelessness in his friend's voice as he spoke- so careful, and yet so messy- made him want to wage war on the universe, on luck, on God, on whoever had arranged it all to seek justice.</p><p>And yet, at the same time, there was a tiny voice that whispered in the back of his head. 'It really isn't that much.' Obviously, he'd shoved it away as soon as it'd come. </p><p>That sort of thinking was unacceptable in every way possible- he wasn't a perfect guy, but he'd never been one to victim-blame. He moved on.</p><p>George's eyes welled up, drowning in empathy as Dream broke off in the middle of the story with a harsh sob. And as soon as it came, he seemed to pull himself out of it enough to continue comprehensively.</p><p>George could barely breathe as he heard more and more of it. A tear slid down his face. He wasn't usually one to cry, but the way Dream- no, Clay- described everything... it wrapped him up in all the emotion, the memories. The guilt. The shame. Everything.</p><p>He could almost swear he was there when all of it happened.</p><p>Clay, after a bath, clumsily going down the steps. Flashing everyone, 'cause he thought it was funny when they flinched. Micah, at first following everyone else's actions, but then asking him to do it again. Clay said that, looking back, he'd seen Micah's phone camera pointed towards him. He said he hadn't done it again, because he was the teasing type.</p><p>Clay, late in the evening, when it was dark out and Mom had been making dinner. Micah leading him upstairs to the attic. He'd been more upfront this time and, unclothing himself as well as Clay, laying down on the mattress they'd put up there. Laying down, he told Clay to get on top of him, to put it inside of him. He said he'd tried- but he'd felt too much resistance and began to fear that it might hurt, so he didn't. Eager to get Micah into trouble, as a younger brother often is...</p><p>Clay. Clay. Clay.</p><p>Clay, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve years old. Terrified of being alone, constantly seeking distractions, never wanting to stop and listen to his thoughts for a second. He'd said that at night, he would lay awake and stare at the ceiling and cry quietly. He'd had to cry quietly- his mom slept right underneath him, because it was a bunk bed, and if he'd cried loud enough for her to hear it would raise questions and they would have a talk.</p><p>Those talks, he'd said, were probably the worst of his life. Being constantly rebuked and scorned and laughed at and told that it shouldn't have mattered, that 'what happened' was so tiny and so infinitesimal and so irrelevant and there were so many other people who had gone through worse.</p><p>They always ended the same, too, he'd said. Clay would numb himself out, cry his way out, agree and hunker down. Push everything down. He'd described it like putting a horse tranquilizer on yourself. Everything happened, and that was the way it was. His mom talked. Clay sat there and built up walls. So many walls. He'd told himself that it was never going to happen again. She would never be allowed to get as close as she'd once been. Ever again.</p><p>He'd heard, later on, that she'd tried everything. It was a discussion that involved all the "older people" of the family. That meant Clay and everyone older than he was. The family was having an argument. Josiah, Clay's other older brother and the one closest to him in terms of age, had tried a "family therapy" technique that they'd learned from a relative.</p><p>It hadn't worked very well. After hours and hours of arguing, Clay barely inputting because he was only thirteen and yet so depressed and drained from the stress of everything he couldn't think straight. Mom had taken over the conversation. She began talking. Everything went to hell.</p><p>Clay said that he knew what she was going to do. Everything in him was screaming at him to leave.</p><p>She'd brought it up in front of everyone. They'd all tried so hard to pretend it didn't happen, to pretend it hadn't had an effect, to keep it locked away. No one had pretended more than Clay.</p><p>Her exact words. </p><p>/"Some people won't let go of memories they've been holding on to for years and years and years. Isn't that right, Clay?"</p><p> He spoke the words every bit as menacingly as she had. And George believed him.</p><p>Someone- he said he couldn't remember who- had asked what that meant. She was staring him- Clay- down the whole time she answered. His throat felt dry. Her eyes were hard and unforgiving. He knew it was coming. And it still surprised him, like it would surprise you if someone suddenly punched you in the gut at full force.</p><p>/"Clay still hasn't gotten over some memories. Like when I was making dinner, and Clay comes down and tells me that Micah told him to put his dick in him. Isn't that right, Clay?"/</p><p>Clay said nothing. A tear snaked down his cheek and he managed to choke out a few words.</p><p>/"I don't want to be here right now."/</p><p>A half-assed form of 'may i be excused from the table'. Clay had always been relatively good-mannered, he was always praised when he was at a friend's house for his manners. He didn't care now.</p><p> He had pushed past and stumbled out the door on sturdy, steady feet as another argument blew up in the house.</p><p>He walked pretty far away. At the time, they were living near a huge water resevoir. It had paths that went on for miles. Clay picked one, the first one he saw, and walked.</p><p>He walked pretty far away.</p><p>A good third of a mile, maybe more. He'd cut through some of the tall grass stalks and flattened a little spot for himself. He'd covered up his tracks so anyone passing by wouldnt notice the broken stalks.</p><p>And he'd cried. A lot.</p><p>Clay- present day Clay- began to sob quietly. George could hear him shuffling- he assumed that he had put his head in his arms as the sound muffled- and his heart broke for the man. He put his head in his hands and quietly shed some tears. His heart really and truly ached for what he'd been put through for years.</p><p>"I've got the tickets," George spoke quietly, trying not to startle Clay too much. "I'll be there in a day or two."</p><p>He could hear Clay sniff. "Okay."</p><p>"Will you be okay without me till then?"</p><p>Clay inhaled, and exhaled deeply. Sniffed again. "Yeah."</p><p>"Okay," George whispered. "I'll see you soon."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>george is on his waaaaaay</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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